Winter
by Midnight Circus
Summary: On this snowy evening, Ryoma meets someone he never thought he would see ever again.


Hello!

It's not like I get snow where I live, but I remember it was really pretty.

* * *

Little puffs of white danced in the air. Ryoma shivered and brought the scarf above his face, covering his nose and mouth. A sudden gust of wind stopped his movement and he immediately turned around, his back to the direction of the cold air, pulling the jacket closer to his chest. It was so cold… so cold. Ryoma could hardly stand it.

The scarf slipped a little down the bridge of his nose, exposing new flesh on his face for the harsh wind to attack. He wanted to push it up, but that would mean taking his ungloved hands out of his pockets, which would then mean freezing his fingers. Not desirable. The snowfall was getting stronger, though it still wasn't enough to gather in blankets on the ground. Ryoma decided that he hated snow; dampening the ground, making all the dust and dirt on the pavements seem so much more obvious, giving the road a dark, dangerous vibe.

He never wanted to see snow ever again. Snow that blew onto his face and melted against his skin. Snow that caught in his hair, making it seem like he had a severe case of dandruff. Snow that impaired his vision as he squinted to see if he was going to walk into anybody, or if he was in the way of any passing car.

Oh, how he loathed snow.

Some people might have found it attractive, and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why. It was cold, annoying, and got caught on his clothes. Sure the ice crystals could have been pretty, but most of the time, it was just clumps of shapeless frozen rain.

And snow made it impossible to play tennis. In a way, it _was_ like rain, wetting the courts, making it slippery.

He exhaled, and his breath made a little cloud in front of his face. This was the only thing he liked about winter. He blew again, and a longer stream of smoke came from his mouth. Underneath the scarf, he smiled.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"One cabbage…" Ryoma walked to the vegetables, mumbling the painfully memorized shopping list under his breath. There were a few cabbages left, all wilted and sorry looking. Ryoma didn't know whether to buy one, and get scolded for improper selection of cabbage, or not to buy one, and get scolded for not following instructions. _Heck_. He reached out and took the one that looked the greenest, dropping it into his basket.

Now what came next? He went to the fridge, scarf now around his neck. Milk. He took a carton, making sure its expiry date wasn't within the next two weeks.

He scrunched his face up in concentration as he pondered on what else his mother had told him to buy. No. he couldn't remember anything else. He paid for the groceries, and pulled the scarf above his nose before setting out on down the dark street.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The snow was now falling in thick sheets. He braced himself for the cold as he stepped out of the store, but it was still chilly nonetheless. He couldn't see very well with the sleet clouding up his periphery vision, but he managed to locate the correct street.

Or not. He couldn't tell where he was right now. It was dark, cold, and altogether not a good time to get lost. But he was. Where was he? Panic bubbled up in his chest as he ran back in the direction he remembered coming from. The store was nowhere in sight. Had he taken a wrong turn somewhere? Misread a street sign?

Where was he? He spun around frantically, looking for somebody to ask directions from. But the street was deserted.

There! A person! He made his way towards the man, and stopped in shock.

A brown layered bob.

No.

No way.

This wasn't possible. He blinked, expecting the image of the man ten meters in front of him to disappear. But he remained standing in the middle of the street, emitting an unearthly whitish glow.

"No…" He breathed, the words created a fog in the cold air, "No…"

Then suddenly, Fuji winked and darted off, looking back playfully, as if asking Ryoma to follow. Against all better judgment, Ryoma ran after him, the man he loved. Not caring that this very man was supposed to be gone. Forever.

_Ashes to ashes, dust to dust._

His shoes splashed in several melted snow puddles as he sprinted desperately, madly, after him. The plastic bags of groceries were thrown down on the snowy concrete. He didn't know where he was going, all he knew, was that Syuusuke, his Syuusuke, was leading the way.

And then he wasn't. He looked around. Snow wasn't falling anymore. He raised his neck towards the sky, and found that it was covered. This wasn't possible, he realized, breaths coming in loud hyperventilations. He had seen with his own eyes, his own eyes, Syuusuke. _His_ Syuusuke. He was back. He was _definitely_ back. Ryoma had seen him.

Hot tears dripped out of his eyes and was absorbed by the scarf, already half sliding off his face.

"Hey," There were whispers behind him, "Is that a _Valentino_?"

"Yeah!"

Ryoma turned around, half expecting to see Fuji with some of his friends. He was greeted by a swift punch to the stomach.

Doubling over in pain, he was vaguely aware of his jacket, then cashmere vest pulled off him, leaving him lying on the muddy ground with only a thin shirt on. His wallet was pulled out of his back jeans pocket, and he felt his shoes taken off his feet, then his jeans. All the while, blows were being delivered onto his face and body. Then suddenly, they stopped. Loud raucous laughing broke out.

As he lay, wet, dirty and clad in nothing but his pajamas, Ryoma felt a numbness creep over him. The cold was no longer stinging. It was sedating, climbing up by his limbs. His numerous broken ribs and other bones weren't hurting him any more. The blood coming out of his mouth and wounds on his body no longer felt like blood. He closed his puffy, bruised eyes, hearing a soft familiar liquid voice call his name.

"Ryoma?"

_Syuusuke_.

* * *

I don't know what is _with_ me at the moment.

Bye!


End file.
